Chapter 1: Chapter One
Stiles was walking through the woods near the burned out remains of the old Hale house, with Scott and Allison, on their way to meet Derek, who had texted Scott, asking them to see him, he supposedly had something important to tell them. Scott and Allison were a few paces behind him, holding hands and whispering to each other like the lovesick fools they really were. The sun was close to setting, and Stiles was resisting the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely.
It was just after he had tripped over a root that he heard it, whispering coming from in front of him somewhere. It senmt a nervous chill down his spine. The faint mutterings were barely discernible over the voices of his friends, and the noises of the woods. He hushed the lovers behind him distractedly.
"What? What is it?" Scott asked, moving beside Stiles and staring out into the semi darkness with his super sensitive senses, trying to find what had Stiles suddenly on edge.
"Someone is out there, I can hear them," Stiles said, glancing at Scott.
"I can't hear anything," Scott said, straining his hearing, looking confused. Stiles frowned.
"They're still talking," he said softly, pointing in front of them, where the sound was coming from.
"Stiles, I can't hear anything..." Scott reiterated with a frown, and shot a glance at Allison, who shrugged, also unable to hear anything with her decidedly human ears.
"Is your hearing failing you in your old age or something?" Stiles asked, half smirking, half glaring at his best friend. Scott shook his head.
"I'm serious, Stiles, there is no one out here. No voices, no heart beats, no smells," the werewolf boy said adamantly, a look of concern passing over his features. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked, unable to miss the fleeting panic that swept through Stiles. The other boy shrugged.
"I'm fine," It wasn't completely true, and they both knew it.
The three teenagers started walking again, although Stiles did so reluctantly. The closer they got to the Hale's burned out house, the louder the whispering became, but, Stiles was completely incapable of understanding what was being said. He didn't mention it to Scott again, because he was obviously deaf, and he didn't see the point in arguing. But, be was unable to quell the fear that was rising in his chest, threatening to suffocate him.
Derek was waiting for them on the veranda, Erica, Boyd and Isaac standing near him, their nervousness easily noticed even by Stiles, who had no awesome werewolf abilities to use, just good old human senses. Scott stood before Derek, his normal belligerent look on his face. But, it wasn't to Scott that Derek spoke.
"What's wrong?" the older werewolf was staring straight at Stiles, a look that could almost be considered concern on his handsome face.
"N...nothing," Stiles stuttered awkwardly, surprised. But, if Scott couldn't hear it, and Derek wasn't reacting to the noise, well, there was no point in bringing it back up. he was freaking out enough by himself, no need to have all the others thinking he was having some type of mental breakdown over it. Stiles knew that, at this point in time, though, if he were to speak, he would start yabbering about the voices, which was much louder now.
He didn't miss the raised eyebrow of disbelief that Derek sent him, but, then he was basically dismissed from the Alpha's attention as he turned to Stiles and began talking to him.
Stiles breathed out through his nose, trying to calm his racing heart, tried to focus on the conversation that had begun around him, but he found he couldn't, as the voice, there were perhaps three, got louder. He couldn't hear past the loud, unintelligable words.
Suddenly, a tall woman with dark hair appeared, standing in front of Derek.
SAVE HIM ! she screamed, and Stiles startled, jumping back, as she disappeared just as quick as she had appeared, and he tumbled down the steps, landing on his back, staring at the spot the woman had been seconds ago.
"Stiles?" Scott asked, rushing down the steps to him, worry flashing across his features. The voices were gone, Stiles noted distantly.
"Stiles? Are you Okay?" Scott pushed, as he knelt in the dirt next to his best friend.
Stiles opened his mouth to reply, some type of lie that Scott would be able to pick up on because of his stupid abilities, but, instead, he found himself rolling onto his side and retching.
"Oh, my god," he gasped afterwards, in typical Stiles fashion.
"What the hell, man? What happened?" Scott demanded, half disgusted, half worried.
"I just hurled my guts up? Stiles deflected, not lying just ignoring what he knew Scott actually meant.
"Don't be facetious, Stiles," It was Derek this time, standing just behind Scott, a frown marring his face, as usual. Stiles sighed.
"I don't know, god." it wasn't a complete lie, because he really didn't know what had happened, or rather, how it had happened, and none of the others had even noticed the woman that appeared out of thin air. Well, he knew he wasn't going to mention that to anyone, and be thought of as more crazy then people already thought of him as.
Stiles knew everyone around him could tell something was definitely wrong, even without their special werewolf tactics, and it was all because he wasn't talking a mile a minute, or even at all, really. But, he just knew he wasn't really capable of speech right now.
Scott was still kneeling next to him, a concerned hand on his shoulder, the others, Derek, Allison and the three newest werewolves behind.
"Are you feeling alright?" Scotts voice broke the sudden silence that had befallen them, and Stiles pushing himself up on shakey arms. He wanted to lie and say he was feeling fine, but he wasn't and he didn't feel up to attempting so many lies in such a short amount of time, so, he ust shook his head in the negative, trying to ignore the way his vision swam and his head spun.
“No... no I'm not,” he admitted weakly, hating himself for it as soon as the words left his lips.
“Come on, let's take you home and tell your dad,” Scott muttered, trying to help Stiles to his feet. At his words, Stiles pulled away violently, shaking his head.
“NONONONO!” he exclaimed, “We are not telling my father anything. He does not need to think I cannot take care of myself!” Stiles yelled, ignoring the pounding in his head it caused. As Scott backed up with his hands raised in defeat, a throught struck him, and Stiles turned to Derek.
“You know how you can hear the beat of my heart?” he asked the perpetually glaring werewolf. Derek merely grunted in acknowledgement, “Does that mean you can hear the pounding in my head? Because right now it feels as though someone is hammering away inside my brain,” he said. Derek snorted.
“You're a riot,”
Stiles stared at him.
“Well? Can you? Or are you only useful as a lie detector?” he demanded. Derek glared at him harshly, and Stiles clamped his lips together instintively, self-preservation kicking in. He couldn't resist muttering 'lie detector' to himself though, earning him a light growl from the alpha.
“Shall we take you home, Stiles?” Allison asked sweetly from her position behind her boyfriend. Stiles shook his head earnestly at her.
“No, Dad is home today, and we're here for a reason, after all. I'm sure Derek hand't told you what he wanted to yet, because he and Scott were probably too busy exchanging insilts in lieu of a proper greeting,” Stiles said, grinning, both Scott and Derek looked approproately contrite at his words.
Derek backed up and indicated for them all to follow him inside. Stiles can't help that he actually felt like a little child as he was being ushered inside the house.
As he stepped through the entrance, into the burned out house, which, suprisingly, it appeared Dere was attempting to restore it, he felt suddenly freezing cold, like he had stepped into a freezer room. He shuddered, teeth chattering and he wrapped his arms around himself, trying to warm up. He didn't miss that no one else seemed to notice the sudden chill, not even Allison, who was just as human as he was, supposedly.
Derek lead them to what was once, and slowly becoming again, the kitchen, where there were five hardwood chairs spread around the room haphazardly, and actually pushed Stiles down onto one.
“Sit, before you fall,” the growly man told him with the usual eloquence he possessed. Stiles would have sat even if the man hadn't of basically forced him down onto the seat, so he doesn't argue, besides, Derek's hands were on him, and those hands could grow massive claws faster then he could blink....sooooo not risking it.
“So, now that all that is out of the way, down to business wolfy's, what's the go?” Stiles asked once the large hands were no longer on his shoulders.
All the werewolves present shot him disdainful looks, including Scott, obviously none of them could appreciate his humour when he tried to lighten the mood. All of them were sourwolves. With a heavy sigh, Stiles closed his mouth and attempted to keep quiet to let the grown ups talk.
With an obvious roll of his eyes, and his arms folded across his chest melodramatically, Stiles stared around the room, taking in the bench that looked new, and the walls that were obviously about to be gutted and re-done. There was a hammer and a drill and some other tools lined up on the bench, but, Stiles' eyes just flickered over them without paying them any heed. He wasn't particularly interested in tools, all they tended to do was hurt him, they set out to purposefully cause him some type of bodily harm at all times.
And that was when he heard it. The scurrying of feet in the next room, and the laugh of a child. Attention piqued and completely away from his companions, Stiles turned his head in the direction of the door, and tried to peer through it, see who was there, because, obviously, once again, none of the others had noticed anything out of the ordinary.
Ignoring the looks Scott, Allison and Derek were shooting him, as they spoke, and ignoring Erica, Boyd and Isaac who were resolutely ignoring him, Stiles stood, and walked out of the kitchen, to the next door and into what was unmistakenly the lounge room. There was an old ratty couch in one corner, burned and blackened, like the walls and the beams, and almost everything else in the shell that used to be a family home.
His mouth dropped open at the sight before him. The woman from before, who had appeared in front of Derek, was sitting on the charred remains of the couch, with a young girl standing in front of her, beaming as her eyes landed on Stiles.
He looks nice. The girl stage whispered to the woman.
He can hear us. The woman said back, not bothering to lower her voice, and her eyes landed on Stiles, her mouth set in a thin line. She was a beautiful woman, Stiles noticed. Dark hair, large eyes, high cheek bones, all in all, she looked a lot like Derek, just feminine, something Derek certainly was not.
Stiles tried to calm his hammering heart, as the woman stood from her seat and approached him, her eyes calm and obviously trying to not appear too intimidating.
You can see us, can't you? Her voice was soft as she stopped directly before Stiles, who nodded his head.
Do not speak. They can hear you, but they cannot hear us. We do not want them to think you are mad. I'm sorry if we scare you.
Stiles nodded his head once more. But, he was unable to bring the fear under wraps. He couldn't control it. This was impossible, completely impossible.
I don't know how long you will be able to see us for. So I need to be quick. Derek needs to be saved. Derek isn't safe!
She looked so desperate, but all Stiles felt was confusion. What did Derek need to be saved from? What wasn't he safe from? Stiles wished he was able to ask her, he also wished he was able to ask her who she was, what she was, but she had asked him not to say anything. His lips were pressed into a thin line as he barely managed to repress all the questions that were beginning to burn away inside him. He was definitely not the type of person that held back on speaking, yet, so far today, he had restrained from talking so much that he was sure it wasn't healthy for him.
The woman opened her mouth to say something again, but all that came out was a long, torturous scream that filled Stiles' ears with ringing pain, making him feel like his head was about to split open, and he clenched his eyes shut, as the womans arms and legs were ripped from her body as though she was a barbie doll in the hands of an angry child.
Stiles didn't realise he was screaming himself, until the womans howls of pain and torture had stopped, and he lifted his head and opened his eyes and saw Derek and Scott kneeling before him, panic on both of their faces. Stiles didn't know when he had fallen to the floor, but, he did notice that the woman and the girl were no longer in the room.
His head was ringing with the silence that surrounded him, as he tried to focus his eyes on either one of the two werewolves before him, his eyes wavering back and forth between them, undecided.
Derek ended up making that decision for him, however, as he reached a hand out, and wiped at Stiles' face, wiping moisture that Stiles hadn't even noticed fell from his eyes.
“What the hell?” the older man demanded, his voice a mix of anger and concern. Really, Derek had been showing too much human emotions this day, it was starting to make Stiles himself worried. Stiles just stared at him, unable to get his voice working, his heart beat still way to fast in his own ears, and the pain in his head way too much for him to really think past.
“You walk out of the room, while we are all in the middle of a very important conversation. You come in here, and your heart rate spikes almost drastically. Scott and I run in here, to see you just staring at nothing with your mouth agape like you'd just seen a ghost, and then you suddenly start screaming and fall to the floor like you were having some type of fit. And you just kept screaming. So, seriously, Stiles, what the hell!?” Derek's voice rose in volume as he continued with his speech, his tone bellying his worry.
Stiles just shook his head, unable to find his voice, but then his eyes snapped back to Dereks as his words sunk in.
Had he seen a ghost? Had the woman that spoke to him been a ghost? A ghost from Dereks past? Was she his mother?
Chapter 2: Chapter Two
Derek could almost taste the panic that was surging through the boy in front of him. The brown eyes were wide and looked so desperate with fear that he had the insane urge to just pull the kid into him and protect him from whatever was haunting him. But, the only way he really knew how to protect anyone these days was by turning them into monsters.
But, he couldn't turn Stiles into a monster.
Stiles wasn't speaking. He looked almost incapable of speech, and that scared Derek more than anything in recent months. Stiles was never speechless, in fact, the boy was always talking, always yacking about something, something that probably held no interest to anyone but himself, just saying whatever was on his brain.
Derek wanted to shake him, force something out of him, rather than having to see that terrified, thousand yard stare that sent cold shivers down his spine. Derek prided himself on not being one to easily scare, having been through way too much to spook easily, but, the way Stiles was acting, he couldn't help the way his skin crawled along his spine, and he, ashamedly, just wanted to turn tail, and run, dragging Stiles along with him, to get him away from whatever was terrorising him.
“Stiles?” he pressed, waiting, trying to be patient with the human, trying to remember that he was just that, a human, and he was breakable, so he couldn't shake an answer out of him without possibly causing some type of damage.
“Stiles? Come on, man, what's going on? What's wrong?” Scott's voice broke in from beside him, and Derek shot a glance over at the younger werewolf, and wondered if he could possibly have any better luck getting his friend to snap out of it.
It didn't appear so, because, Stiles' heart rate was picking up, going to fast, and his breathing was coming in short gasps, and the distinctive smells of fear and panic were emanating off of the boy.
“What's wrong with him?” Scott demanded, sounding as panicked as Derek was feeling, but the boy was unable to hide the fear he felt for his best friend in the same way Derek was capable of.
Derek was silent a moment, trying to figure out why Stiles' heart rate could possibly be picking up so drastically, when he realised what it was.
“He's having a panic attack... Has he ever had one before?” He demanded, reaching out and grabbing Stiles by the shoulders, pulling him towards his own chest, and holding him there, whilst looking over at Scott.
“Yeah, after his mum died,” Scott supplied, staring straight back at him.
“What worked to calm him down?” Derek asked.
“I don't know. I was never around when he had panic attacks. But, when I had one a few weeks ago, he gave me an inhaler, told me that my brain thought I was having an asthma attack so, the inhaler worked in calming me down. Said something about irony,” The look of absolute confusion on Scott's face would've been amusing, if it wasn't for the situation they were in.
“Yeah, well, obviously, your panic attack wasn't as severe as this, he's not even responding to us,” Derek said quietly.
He looked down at Stiles, where he was leaning against his chest, eyes staring, wide, breathing coming in short gasps, looking like he was ready to pass out at any second. Derek pulled him back slightly, grabbed his face in his hands and stared the boy straight in the eyes, noticing that Stiles' eyes actually locked onto his, albeit shakily.
“Stiles, I want you to focus on what I am saying,” Derek told him, keeping his voice purposefully calm and clear, making sure there was no way that Stiles could miss what he was saying. Stiles made an odd little mewling sound, that Derek took to be a form of acknowledgement.
“Listen to my voice really carefully. I need you to...” he was going to say, 'listen to my heart beat and try and match your breathing to that', but then he remembered that he wasn't dealing with another werewolf here, but a human, who couldn't hear his heart beat. “I need you to listen to my breathing, try and match your breaths with mine, nice and slowly, come on, you can do it,”
His hands did not slip from his face, he did not let his voice falter, and he kept his breathing steady for Stiles' sake. Each breath he took was slow and calm, and he slumped slightly with relief when Stiles' tried to copy the way Derek was breathing, trying to imitate the slow, deep breaths. It didn't take long after that for Stiles' breathing and heart rate to return to normal, if not a little faster than normal, but, Derek could accept that.
Stiles' eyes did not leave his the entire time, the emotion in them was unreadable, but, Derek was able to scent the panic that was still swirling through him. With his hands still on either side of Stiles' face, Derek spoke again.
“Now, Stiles, what the hell was that?” he asked, hoping that he managed to not set the boy off again.
“I... uh,” Stiles stuttered, his eyes flickering slightly, but resolutely not leaving Derek's own eyes. Derek saw the sudden determination and steel set into those blue eyes that had a habit of irritating him whenever possible. He barely managed to restrain from sighing out loud, as he saw the stubborn glint.
“Stiles...” he growled. “I just talked you down from a panic attack. The least you can do is tell me what the panic attack was about,”
He could almost hear the clogs ticking in Stiles' head.
“Uh, well, I came in here, and I suddenly felt really claustrophobic, and I felt like the roof was going to cave in on me, and kill me, and I started to panic, thinking I would be buried in the rubble of this house, never to be found, leaving my dad all alone, and I got really scared and I could've sworn the roof was falling down. I really think you need to fix this place up, man, if you're going to be making it your headquarters or something, and like, dude, if you're going to live here, you need to make sure this place doesn't fall down on you, because, then, it would be like I had a premonition of your death, just...”
Derek growled,Removing his hands from his face and Stiles shut up instantly. Derek hadn't missed the lie, hadn't missed the way his heart beat changed and then went back to normal as he got sidetracked, as he tended to do.
“You do realise that I can tell when you are lying to me, correct?”
Stiles' eyes flickered over to Scott, as though seeking an escape, but, thankfully Scott was for once using his brain and was on the same side as Derek. The kid was just as worried about Stiles as he was, if not more so, and Derek could feel the frustration Scott was feeling at Stiles for lying and deflecting.
Stiles didn't say anything. Just clamped his mouth shut, and glared at them both.
Derek sighed heavily, and glared right back at the teen.
“I'm taking you back to your place. I don't care if your father is home. Apparently, you are incapable of looking after yourself, what with the whole falling over, vomiting, panic attacks, and what have you. I think your father actually needs to know,”
Derek knew he was being harsh, putting Stiles in that kind of predicament, but, he wasn't using his substantial brain and telling them what was actually wrong. Didn't he realise that they were only trying to help him? It was moments like these that Derek was glad he was no longer a teenager – not that he would ever want to be a teenager again, or anything.
The sudden anger pulsed off Stiles in waves, but, Derek ignored it, stood up, grabbed the teen by the arm, and dragged him from the house, his grip gentle but firm. He almost threw Stiles into the passenger seat of his Camaro, and was around the other side of it and in the drivers seat, before the boy had a chance to even blink, and before he could even consider trying to climb out of the car, Derek was speeding down the driveway, taking no chances with the sneaky, smart kid next to him.
“How is this even fair?” Stiles moaned, glaring over at Derek, who kept his eyes in front of him refusing to look at the pitiful looking boy, his fingers wrapped around the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white with the exertion of possibly coming close to snapping the wheel with his bare hands.
He refused to reply to the whining teenager.
“No, really, Derek, how is this even fair? I'm not your younger brother or something that you can take to my father and dob on me. What are you? Five?” Stiles' voice was getting louder as he got more frustrated.
“Well, seeing as you are the one that won't explain why you had a panic attack, I don't think you have any room to judge,” Derek snapped back, but didn't look over at the boy.
He felt more than heard the heavy sigh that escaped Stiles, and, out the corner of his eye, he saw him turn his head away from him and stare out his window, a dark, scowling frown pretty reminiscent of Derek's own frown on his young face.
Despite his own annoyance and worry for Stiles, he couldn't help a satisfied smirk gracing his normally stoic features. Stiles must've noticed it, because, suddenly, the kid thumped him in the arm, and it would've probably hurt, if Derek was made of weaker stuff than he actually was.
“I will rip your throat out,” Derek warned him, half heartedly. Because, yea, sure, he was going to rip the Sheriffs only kids throat out, that was not a risk he was willing to take. Besides, Stiles was frequently useful, what with his thirst for knowledge and his ability to research seemingly anything accurately.
“Whatever you say, tough guy,” he mocked.
Derek resisted ripping his throat out, with his teeth, merely resorting to rolling his eyes, feeling like he was stuck in the car with a temperamental four year old.
“What's my dad going to say when he realises it's you dropping me off? He's not your biggest fan, what with you being accused of murder and all that,” Stiles said suddenly, after a few moments of silence.
“Not my problem. I think he's going to be more concerned about the fact that his kid is sick, and he will consider me a hero for bringing you home. Besides, I was only accused of being a murderer and everything, because of you and that idiotic best friend of your,” he growled, eyes snapping over to stare straight at Stiles, who moved further into the door of the car, away from him.
Satisfaction. He really did enjoy the fact that he was able to intimidate people. Even though, he really wasn't that scary a person. He wasn't a psychopath, after all.
After a few minutes of Silence, they finally pulled up in front of Stiles' home, and the two of them got out of the car, Stiles a lot more reluctantly then Derek, who ushered him along the path to the front door, where Stiles then let the two of them in. Derek followed him inside the house, and they came to a stop at the kitchen, where Sheriff Stilinski was drinking a cup of coffee and had paper work spread out all around him at the table.
The Sheriff looked up, and did a double take when his eye landed on Derek.
“What are you doing here?” the man demanded, jumping to his feet.
“Relax, sir, I'm only here, bringing your son home,” Derek quickly defended, raising his empty hands.
“And why would you be bringing Stiles home?” the Sheriff asked roughly, looking between his son, and the man he assumed to be guilty of numerous murders. Derek smiled slightly.
“Your son and Scott were visiting, but, Stiles here got sick,” and then Derek went on to tell the Sheriff what had transpired at his dilapidated home, leaving out anything that could possibly be incriminating, or supernatural, and the Sheriffs eyes left Derek's face, instead turning to focus on his son, who was staring at the floor, scuffing his foot along, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible.
“Really now? Is this true, Stiles?” father asked son, who nodded glumly, not looking his father in the eye. Derek would've felt bad, if it wasn't for the fact that he felt he was actually doing the right thing. After all, he wasn't a bad guy, and he didn't hate Stiles. No, he was just extremely irritated by his mere presence.
After a few minutes of the Sheriff berating his son, and then thanking Derek for bringing him home safely, a quick promise of making sure that people knew he was innocent and stopped getting glares and threats from people on the street, Sheriff Stilinski let Derek leave, and turned to berate his son some more.
It was as he was climbing into his car, sitting there, listening to the conversation going on inside the house, that Derek heard something that added to the confusing mystery that Stiles was presenting him with.
“How am I meant to save him? What am I meant to save him from? Why can't you just tell me?”
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
He was running late to class, rustling through his locker, trying to find his misfortunately misplaced chemistry book. He knew it was in there somewhere, it absolutely had to be, after all, he had left it there on Friday, so, if it wasn’t there then he had a book thief and he would probably cry.
With a hoot of relief, Stiles pulled back out of his locker in victory, brandishing his book in glee, and slammed his locker shut.
And almost suffered a heart attack.
Standing just behind where the door to his locker had been sitting, was a boy about Stiles’ age, shorter than Stiles, with dirty blonde hair and pale blue eyes, his lips pouted in annoyance.
“Why won’t you hurry up and get to class,” the boy demanded, his voice sending chills down Stiles’ spine.
“I, uh, I was just looking for my chem book,” Stiles told the boy nervously.
The boy actually looked startled at his words, or, at the fact that Stiles had acknowledged his presence. His pale blue eyes widened almost comically, and his mouth fell open in shock.
“You… How?” the boy managed to stutter out. But, before Stiles had a chance to respond, the boys’ face twisted from shock to one of anger or, some terrifying emotion, as Stiles suddenly found himself being thrown down the corridor, as the boy erupted into a feral bellow.
“You’re a disgrace!” the boy yelled as Stiles landed with a thump four or five metres away. Stiles groaned in pain, slowly pulling himself to a crouched position, and staring back at the boy.
“What did I ever do to you?” Stiles asked. He was just coming to realise that this wasn’t a boy, this was a ghost – well, he assumed they were ghosts – and he felt waves of fear course through his suddenly cold body. This ghost was nothing like the ghosts at Derek’s old home, they seemed friendly, or concerned, rather, if not a little hostile, but, this ghost, this one seemed angry, and violent.
Honestly, though, he had just put the sighting of ghosts down to being at the Hale house, where so many tragic deaths had occurred, deaths, murders, tragedies, either way. He had figured he was only seeing the ghosts of the Hales, almost like a memory that was on repeat and he had somehow managed to stumble upon seeing them. But, this, seeing this ghost, certainly put a damper on his conclusion, and, he had to rethink it all.
But, his body was now aching, he no longer wanted to go to Chemistry, which he was well and truly late for now, he just wanted to get away from this ghost that had violently thrown him down the school corridor.
“You can see me, you need to leave,” the ghost said coldly and distantly, as he stalked towards Stiles. Stiles scuttled backwards with every step the ghost took.
“Why?” Stiles asked, rather than doing as he was told, as was typical of the teenage human. Because, really, what was his life, werewolves, kanimas, and now ghosts? Could his life get any worse? Or, more dramatic? Or, well, supernatural?
“LEAVE!” The ghost screamed, as he got right into Stiles’ personal space, the vibrations of the scream rushed through Stiles’ body in painful waves, sending him sprawling backwards again, his back arching off the ground has his body and mind both sought to escape the torture that he was being submitted to.
So much pain, yet he couldn’t make a noise to release it.
When the pain dissipated moments later, the ghost was gone, and Stiles was left shaking and petrified. Gasping for breath, he jumped to his feet, Chemistry book and school bag laying neglected and forgotten just metres from him, and he bolted from the school as fast as his legs could carry him, which, although not as fast as Scott’s supernaturally fastened pace, was possibly quicker than he had ever managed before. And, without meaning to blow his own trumpet, but, he wasn’t actually that slow a runner… just awkward, and known to trip and land on his face.
He clambered into his jeep, and headed straight for his home, barely sticking to the speed limit, barely stopping for red lights and pedestrians and stop signs. Somehow, he wasn’t entirely sure how, he managed to get home in one piece – his father’s car was not in the drive- he bolted into the house and up to his bedroom, where he slammed his door behind him, and leaned against it, breathing heavy, sank to the floor, and managed to resist bashing his head against the wood. Stile clenched his eyes shut and breathed through his nose.
He needed to calm down, needed to relax. There was only one thing he could possibly do that could have any chance of helping, and that was research. He now had to find out as much as he possibly could about ghosts.
Ridiculously, or perhaps not, seeing as it was Stiles, the only thing that came to his mind when he thought about being able to speak to ghosts, was The Ghost Whisperer, and how he’d had many a fantasy, growing up, about Jennifer Love-Hewitt, because, come on man, she was hot as fuck.
With Jennifer Love-Hewitt’s face still burning prettily in his mind, Stiles calmed down enough to climb to his shaky legs, and walk over to his laptop, which was situated on his desk. He collapsed onto his swivel chair and began what he did best.
Two hours later, and with less than satisfactory results, Stiles leaned back, sighed heavily and ran his hands through his very short hair. How come, he could manage to find mostly correct facts about werewolves, outside of the porn and the fanfictions, but he could not manage to find anything that seemed remotely, possibly true, about ghosts? Where was the fairness in that? So he could research things that would benefit other people, but when it came to exclusively benefiting him, NADA!
“Honest to God, how is this even my life? Why is this even my life? Why me? What have I ever done to deserve this? Did I do something so terribly wrong in a past life? Because, that is no fair, I don’t even remember what I did, how can I really be punished for something I have no recollection of ever happening? Just because my spirit probably has some idea, doesn’t mean that it’s sharing with me…. Really, why should I be punished? I’m a good person. I don’t watch too much porn, I don’t fight people, I don’t kill people, I don’t steal, I don’t lie… Okay, I do lie… Oh my God!” He rambled, not realising he was even speaking out loud.
“You can never shut up, can you?” a voice spoke from behind Stiles.
With a manly, honestly, it was so manly it was almost a growl, squeal, Stiles leaped out of his seat, and threw himself around whoever was intruding into his room, and over his bed, hiding down between his bed and the wall, closing his eyes and shaking.
“Go away, go away, go away, you can’t be here, you’re not real, leave me alone, I left, I’m not there anymore, I left,” Stiles cried out, hands over his eyes, knees drawn to his chest, and heartbeat pounding so hard against his ribcage he thought it might burst out of him.
“Stiles, Stiles, what the hell, man, it’s me, it’s Derek,” the voice said, from awfully close, leaning over the edge of the bed.
“How do I know that’s true?” Stiles demanded, eyes still clenched tightly shut, not moving his hands.
“Well, by opening your eyes for one,” the voice repeated. And, yeah, okay, so he did sound like Derek, and he did have a valid point, so Stiles lowered his hands and opened his eyes and saw Derek leaning over the edge of his bed, peering down at him, eyebrows creased together, lips pursed.
“I think it’s time you told me what’s going on,” Derek demanded as soon as Stiles’ heart rate returned to normal.